


Where You Want to Be

by Cloudfield



Series: Where There's Smoke [4]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 07:50:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11398233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudfield/pseuds/Cloudfield
Summary: Tom's done this before - come to Jenny and let her have her way with him. He's not himself tonight, though, in a daze before and melancholy after, and he's her friend before he's anything else, so Jenny endeavours to get to the bottom of the situation. It's not what she expects - and really, she hadn't figured Tom to be so oblivious.





	Where You Want to Be

**Author's Note:**

> Title is technically an old Taking Back Sunday album? I remembered this just after posting it. We don't know much about Jenny in canon but it made her a good blank slate for this one. Set after Quid Pro Quo, corresponding Harry bit in progress.

Yeah, Tom decides, he’s definitely in trouble. Jenny’s in his lap naked, head thrown back and fingers flying over her clit, riding him unrelentingly, and he’s still only half _here,_ even when this very sight had done it for him before. It feels fucking amazing, and Jenny’s beautiful and he’d wanted - wanted either of them, really, because they're pretty and they're nice girls with no shortage of redeeming qualities but they're identical and Tom's never claimed to be a saint, when it came to sex. He _likes_ Jenny and her sister; he's started inviting them along to Sandrine’s and to what planetside recreation he gets from time to time with no intention of it being anything more, but Jenny eventually came around of her own accord and Tom figured… Mostly, Tom figured he wasn't holding up his end of the bargain on this whole ‘him seeing other people’ thing.

What he and Jenny seem to have most in common is they both want _Harry._

‘You're nothing so bad to look at, Tommy, but…’ Jenny’d left it there, the first time they’d done this, digging her fingers into his ass and starting to provide a suspicion that Tom knew just what her ‘but’ was. From the time they'd gotten to her quarters that night, Tom had done very little but exactly what he'd been told, and it was no different tonight. Which he’s fine with, but he can see why Jenny thought Harry might be more her type, for this sort of thing. Tom’s not about to disillusion her. It's not as if Harry fucks like Jenny does, though Tom can coax him up to something close, but he'd bridle, at this sort of manhandling.

Jenny’s looking at him, though, wanting him, saying his name, will have the courtesy to keep doing so until they're finished - and Tom suddenly can't want her back that way, no matter how much he once did. His autonomic functions are keeping him enough in the moment to perform, thank God, because that would be embarrassing, but what he's thinking about is Harry on his knees in Tom’s quarters, just this morning, Tom sitting at the foot of the bed. Harry sucked him off like it was the sole thing he'd come by to do, confirmed their holodeck slot for later that day, and then given him that feather light kiss on the cheek that had become his custom and taken off.

Sprawling back contentedly on his bed, Tom had not been surprised to think idly, _Damn, I like him,_ in the wake of that encounter. There was nothing _not_ to like about someone who did things like that for you - it was just the sort of thing that the real Ricky he'd left behind in France would have done.

Ricky. Ricky, the second woman he'd asked to marry him. Ricky who'd followed Susie Crabtree; Susie who’d made him physically ill when she left, who he'd first noticed because she reminded Tom of Eric, the boy he'd stupidly asked to come away with him in the wake of his father’s disapproval when they were seventeen.

Well, shit.

Tom had known he wouldn't be immune to feeling _something_ ; he knew he did, but before then - Harry was the first real friend he'd had in a long time, though this far into _Voyager’s_ journey Tom has made others, is starting to forget what it's like to _expect_ contempt. But thinking of the other people who'd mattered to him most reflexively, at a time like then, when Harry had just left? Tom felt like he'd been hit by a ton of bricks - sick, sweet, and dizzying.

The post-coital endorphins faded and Tom decided by sheer force of will he would be fine, after that. And he was, until their holodeck time.

Tom hasn't been what anyone would call shy since before Eric; he can play it cool, but the moment Tom felt that Ricky-Susie-Eric feeling again in his stomach and Harry hadn't touched him, just asked if he was okay, even with the holodeck safeties in place and Tom having scripted his own injury - there was no denying that.

He found Jenny at Sandrine’s, asked her if she wanted to get out of here - Megan not in evidence, for once - and did not panic, not in the least.

Now they're done, though, and he's slipped out of her but she hasn't climbed off of him; instead, she's looking down at him with wry amusement, her hands still braced on his chest.

“All right, Tommy, who is she?”

Damn the woman all to hell, but he _likes_ Jenny. He's stronger than her but she's also quick enough to know Tom won't do anything about it, and if she’s not right about the minutiae, she's read him like a book. Why it can't be her instead of Harry…

“No idea what you're talking about, sugar,” he says, and she lets him kiss her but she bites down on his lower lip in gentle reproach.

Jenny rolls her eyes. “Don't you ‘sugar’ me, Tom Paris. I knew what you were after, but it's not going to make you forget about her.”

“Implying that there’s a ‘her’ to be considered,” Tom responds lazily.

“And are you implying that there’s a ‘he’ to be considered? Because there's a someone. You did fine,” Jenny says like it’s nothing, not at all affronted, “but I know when I'm not the one who’s really wanted.”

Tom sighs. “Look, Jen, I'm sorry.”

“Oh, don't be sorry,” Jenny says, dismissive, “but inquiring minds do want to know. I didn't bring you here to try and make you tell me - I wasn't sure, until we got started. I figured you'd had a bad day, to tell you the truth.”

Tom's relieved by that much - to go at him like that, solely to catch him in a weak moment - Jenny’s an evil genius in her own playful sort of way, his Malicia for a reason, but he doesn't want to believe she could be that conniving.

“It wasn't the best day,” Tom admits after too long. If he can't talk to Harry about it, Jenny's probably his next best option - he and B'Elanna have long since made a friendly peace, but still - and he feels like he has to admit to someone, “I'm an idiot.”

“You were off today, weren't you? And on shore leave tomorrow, to boot?” Jenny asks. It would normally be enough to lighten his mood; it’s true. “What happened?”

“Ill-advised things, this morning,” Tom says vaguely. “Ill-advised things that have been going on too long for my own good, apparently. No one who’d be upset about this, by the way.”

Abruptly, Jenny climbs off of him. She orders a Scotch for Tom and a bourbon for herself, and Tom half sits up to accept it, makes a face at the subtle difference in the synthehol that he knows she won't take for his being ungrateful - whiskey gets the worst of the flavour alterations, they’ve both agreed, but it's the closest thing they've got to what they both prefer.

“Tom,” Jenny says gently, patting his shoulder, “I won't pry. But you're obviously upset. Don't tell me who, just tell me why.”

Tom laughs, bitter. What he decides to say is cruder than he'd be apropos of nothing, but he figures Jenny can take it - he's still wearing her teeth marks across his chest and shoulders and a combination of their own fluids on his belly. “Ever had somebody show up in the morning, go down on you, take off, and had that mean you spent the rest of the day miserable?”

“Actually, no,” Jenny says, nonchalantly enough that it makes Tom kiss her cheek again, rumbling in his chest. He likes her, but he might not be any better off if it _was_ her preoccupying him.

“Good for you, then, Jen. I mean it.”

“I do know what it means that you were, though.”

Tom sighs. “Got any thoughts on how I can make it stop meaning that?”

“Why don't you tell me why you want it to?” Jenny counters. “Did you try and tell her and get turned down? Oh, honey, you actually feel used, don't you?” If it amuses her to be thinking that about Tom, of all people, she’s kind enough to hide it.

“Unfortunately the situation doesn't lend itself to any such confession,” Tom murmurs. He lets Jenny take his hand, spares a thought for how _weird_ that is. Tom's not shy and clearly neither is Jenny, about nudity, but from the outside looking in, without sound, she'd seem to be comforting him about anything but this.

“Rank?” Jenny asks sympathetically. 

Tom shakes his head. “Regs aren't what they were out here, anyway - I couldn't have grabbed you from the pool hall if that was the case, could I?”

“Conditions aren't what they were out here, either,” Jenny says, as if she'd only just realized. “You're afraid—”

“I'm not afraid,” Tom snaps sourly. Jenny's back stays ramrod straight and her face doesn't so much as flutter. Give her 15 years more in Starfleet, in another life, and - Tom’s too selfish to want it, for all he’s softened in two years, but that look would rival Janeway’s.

“If you say something and it doesn't go right, you're going to be out here with her for the next 70 years,” Jenny concludes.

Riled the way he's tried to stop getting when he gets pinned like this, since Janeway gave him his life back, Tom retorts, “It’s not like that. He's made it clear he’s not interested, because she’s - shit,” he stops himself, two words too late.

For the first time tonight, Jenny needs a minute. “Wow. That _is_ going to be a problem, Tom. If he’s been clear and she doesn't know… I thought better of you, but you know, you deserve better, too.”

Tom's oddly touched by that sentiment, even preceded as it was. Fuck it. He’s in this deep. “She can't know,” Tom says, and makes a sharp sound to cut Jenny off when she opens her mouth. She's not impressed, but let her be - they’d’ve got here eventually anyway, and he thinks she might cut him some slack when he adds quietly, “She's not here. It's not his fault, Jenny, really. We've got a difference in perspective, that's all.” 

He’s pretty sure he's already said too much - Harry doesn't talk about Libby much any more, but he's friends with both of the Delaneys, as well, and neither misses much. 

“Tom,” Jenny gasps, and Tom bows his head and readies himself for it. He thought he had, at least, before Jenny punches him in the upper arm. “You're an idiot,” she says, maybe fondly, and he couldn't have prepared himself for quite that. “I am a little jealous, but Jesus, are you blind?" 

Taken aback, he asks, “Excuse me?" 

“Just so we’re clear, because that doesn't sound like a first time thing,” Jenny starts, “you two have been screwing around with the understanding it was to be casual? And you haven't actually told him how you feel?” 

“Yes,” Tom says, “and no. He told me what he wanted and I gave it to him. It's not his fault,” he repeats, because it's not, and because Jenny needs to keep this to herself and he can’t quite discern why she's angry. 

Jenny looks exasperated. “You've got that right. Tom, you've got - you've got a reputation,” she explains. Tom snorts. Like it’s news. “And Harry… I don't know what you get up to when I'm not around, but I know he saw me leaving your room, a couple of weeks ago. He’s got no reason to believe things have changed on your end at all.” 

“I don't have any reason to believe they've changed on his,” Tom argues. He knows what Jenny's driving at, but she's trying to make him feel better, that's all. Trying to get rid of him. Well, Tom can go. He sits up and knocks back the synthetic drink. “Do me a favour. Don't let me hear any scuttlebutt about any of this, would you?” 

“Tom, be quiet,” Jenny says impatiently. A quick sweep of her heel and the press of her hand against his stomach guides his tumble and has him back on her mattress before he can react. Tom’s too incredulous to speak, and Jenny carries on before he can gather himself to lash out again. “I didn't say anything because I honestly didn't think you were that way inclined,” she says, and that's what finally makes her show a trace of bashfulness, for some reason, “but Harry _adores_ you. I know, damn it, because I've hoped he'd look at me the way he looks at you.” 

Tom shakes his head. “That’s… dubious at best. Kim looks at every one that way. That’s just his face.” 

“Every time you see it,” Jenny replies, almost before Tom can finish. “When you're _around._ Just talk to him, Tom. You're together nearly all the time, even when you don't have to be, and you're having sex - you're already dating and it's no wonder you're miserable, not being able to put a name to it.” 

It’s a more compelling argument than her last one. But what if they do have some new cosmic miracle? He knows, deep down, that he doesn't handle rejection well. He knows equally he'd never have to face it if they got home, because he’d bow out just to save himself from it. They’ve been on _Voyager_ a long time now, and in some ways Tom thinks it must have felt longer, for those of his crewmates’ loved ones living a mundane day-to-day - long enough for Libby and anyone else to have wanted to move on, if not long enough for those with more guilty consciences to act. Long enough for Harry to come to some kind of acceptance. 

Long enough for it to seem crazy, when Jenny puts it how she just has: that somehow they've been sleeping together, eating together, and working their way through _Captain Proton_ and any exotic activity or locale one of them can dream up and create for the holodeck without the relationship ever breaking down or it's more physically involved aspects ceasing. They do nearly everything together, everything but certain away missions and Tom’s increasingly less frequent other dalliances, and maybe it isn't insane, that Tom's starting to feel a way he doesn't dare put into words. 

Maybe he wasn't stupid all that time ago to think things could stay easy because he'd taken Harry’s insistent hope they'd be home soon to heart, but was it natural, by now, that he was starting to feel like he couldn't? 

“Hey,” Jenny says, like she's trying not to startle. She doesn't succeed; Tom jumps, and she adds, “Sorry. You okay? 

“Yeah,” Tom mutters. “Thinking was all. I do… actually appreciate it, Jen. I've gotta figure this out for myself, though, so…” 

“Why Mr. Paris,” Jenny says, dripping mock innocence, “I'm surprised at you. Have I ever been less than discreet?” 

Tom shakes his head, because it's true. Any lapses made in their clandestine affair have been entirely his own. “Just let that include Megan, too, please. For my comfort, not because of her,” he adds quickly. “And know I'm working on it, but it might not be right away, okay?” 

“You've got it, lieutenant,” Jenny agrees, hushed again. Tom looks at her with a question in his eyes, because Jenny’s never called him that when it's the two of them in here, in the quiet and the dim, and she smiles at him. “In return, though, I'm going to ask that you stop coming to me this way. If you need to talk the door’s always open, but your pants stay on.” 

Tom laughs, rueful. “I guess that should start with my pants going on, huh?” 

Jenny laughs with him and goes for her own clothing. “Probably.” 

They dress, and Tom heads to leave by unspoken agreement. Jenny follows him and when she goes to hug him, he kisses her on impulse, softer than he thinks he ever has and no more than a brush. “Thanks, Jen.” 

Jenny laughs, high and musical. “You kiss him like that and tell him the truth and he's yours, Tommy. Now go,” she says, using one hand to shove at his shoulder and the other to prod at her door controls, “I know you guys ship off earlier tomorrow than Meg and I, but if we won’t be intruding, we’ll see you guys on Akritiri.” 


End file.
